


Privately Owned Spiral Galaxy

by KadeAK (zacixn)



Series: The Tides of War (Dream SMP Season One) [4]
Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Betrayal, Fear, Fear of Betrayal, Gen, Heavy Spoilers for the 08/10/20 Livestreams, Introspection, No Dialogue, Paranoia, mans needs a hug and a warm glass of milk, villain!wilbur
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-09
Updated: 2020-10-09
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:53:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26916904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zacixn/pseuds/KadeAK
Summary: Wilbur is a paranoid man.He'd been paranoid for a long time, really - maybe even since before his exile from Manberg. Maybe he’d been scared ever since the first war for their independence, ever since Eret showed him just how easy it is for an ally to desert you in cold blood. It only made sense – Wilbur only managed to stay alive for so long because of his closed-off nature. Of course it’d become an emotional crutch for him.--Fear breeds hate, and then cold, cold wrath. The signs for Wilbur's mental downfall were clear from the start.
Relationships: No Romantic Relationship(s), Wilbur Soot & Crippling Fear
Series: The Tides of War (Dream SMP Season One) [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1909273
Comments: 4
Kudos: 155





	Privately Owned Spiral Galaxy

**Author's Note:**

> I have been manifesting paranoid Wilbur so hard, man. I'm so happy it's canon.

Wilbur is a paranoid man.

He'd been paranoid for a long time, really - maybe even since before his exile from Manberg. Maybe he’d been scared ever since the first war for their independence, ever since Eret showed him just how easy it is for an ally to desert you in cold blood. It only made sense – Wilbur only managed to stay alive for so long because of his closed-off nature. Of course it’d become an emotional crutch for him.

The rebel knew all too well how easy it was to be fooled by words of trust. Eret had been genuine, back before he left them to die. He’d been kind, trusting, loyal – at least, that’s what Wilbur had seen. In hindsight, back then, he was a naïve leader. He’d trusted a stranger with his life – and that stranger had taken the opportunity to abuse it. And, if he wasn’t careful, it could happen again very easily.

It hadn’t seemed like such a big deal back then. L’Manberg won its independence, despite all odds. Wilbur and Tommy took their rightful place at head of the country’s reigns, having won the country its entire existence from the jaws of defeat. Sure, maybe Eret was a filthy traitor, but he was just one crooked man among many genuine soldiers. The chances of another betrayal should have been sub-zero, at worst.

Still, though, even when he was President, Wilbur was scared. Maybe not cripplingly so, but he could never shake his underlying fear. In his head, his cabinet was not the most stable leadership the SMP had ever seen. All it would take was one abused thread of trust, and he’d come crashing down again, left to die for good this time. And unfortunately for Wilbur, he had no way of predicting where that nudge would come from.

He didn’t just start being paranoid upon exile, not at all. He was always a paranoid leader, really. Hell, the ill-fated Elections were called out of a surge of panic. Here’s the thing, though – fear is easier to ignore and suppress when you have work to forget yourself in. Wilbur was at his most stable when he was working, drowning himself in paperwork and management to mask the fact that he could not bring himself to rest properly at night.

Even though the fear never subsided, the leader was able to reassure himself that he would be okay. If not for himself, but for the sake of his nation.

(Maybe if someone had stopped him in time, none of this would have happened.)

Everything changed when Schlatt became dictator.

When Wilbur ran away from his own country, clinging to life, that’s when he started to really feel irrevocably scared. That’s when the fear chose to begin its descent upon him, kickstarting a downward spiral that Will ought to have known was near bottomless. Critically, he ignored the warning signs in bitter determination, turning a blind eye to his mental health.

As he huddled away in a system of caves, the realisation fully hit him that he was alone. He had nothing - no presidency, no nation, no pride, no family. Wilbur might never be president again, and that fact scared him to his core. He might never be allowed set foot in the nation he carved, and that terrified him. Everything he worked for was all for nothing, and that fact haunted him at night.

Tommy was the blind optimist of the rallying trio. He was young, though, so Wilbur didn’t blame him for that. The teen was so quick to hire new help, to seek connections in their forsaken country, though, that the rebel couldn’t help but worry for their future. Would they end up falling to another bout of hubris?

Despite himself, Wilbur let Tommy’s hope blind him, at least for a little while. It made him feel better, if only temporary, chasing away the shadows that clung to the tunnels and haunted Wilbur’s sleep. They named their rebellion, crafted a base, geared up for what would inevitably be the resurgence of good – after all, their cause was nothing but good, for the sake of their nation, battered at the hands of a power-hungry dictator. He, Tommy, Techno, and Tubbo were the heroes to this story. The passionate underdogs with a dream and a burning passion for justice.

So… why didn’t Wilbur feel like he was doing the right thing?

It took watching a dictatorial speech in secret for the realisation to hit Wilbur like a freight train.

Oh. They were happy without him.

No matter how many times Tubbo reassured him that Schlatt’s leadership was hell, Wilbur was no moron. He recognised even from afar how the boy seemed to glow with pride beside Schlatt, suit crisp and neatly pressed. From the seats, his friends (?) watched with smiles on their faces, sparkles in their eyes and admiration in their gazes. They looked pleased, Wilbur realised. They weren’t in distress.

They were lying to him all along about the revolution. There was no fucking revolution!

Wilbur was no hero, reclaiming a stolen leadership. He was no saint, come to rescue his land from a bloodthirsty dictator. He was a disgraced war criminal, fighting against their democratically elected leader in order to topple Manburg’s newfound peace. The people didn’t miss him – no, they were happy he was gone. Every ally he thought he’d made in the dark was a lie. They were double crossing him. They were betraying him. It was all a lie, a lie, a lie, a—

That’s when the paranoia really hit. Wilbur retreated to Pogtopia with a cold feeling in his body and an uncontrollable tremor to his body, and even though he huddled next to a campfire, the cold feeling did not lift. His fingers trembled uncontrollably as he breathed, slow and steady. It felt as if he had been doused in permafrost, ice infiltrating his skin and working its way ruthlessly into his core until he could feel no warmth.

Wilbur was scared of being used again. He didn’t think his heart could take another betrayal. By God, he would not let someone take advantage of his trust again. Not Tubbo, not Techno, not even his son. They were all untrustworthy, strangers to his cause, loose cannons that could just so easily turn and explode in his face. He feels a breeze whisper past his ear, just like the whistle of a barely missed arrow shot, and he curls into himself with a sharp and panicked breath. 

A shudder wracked through his body as he finally contemplated what this meant for him.  
If everyone was against him, was he the hero? 

If he were in a better mental state, he would say yes. He's always done his best for his nation. He's a good man at heart, he's always fought to maintain his motto of peace and diplomacy.  
Now, though, as his heart beats a rapidly unsteady pace and he feels cold creep up his spine, he's inclined to disagree. Heroes didn't hide in tunnels with chills in their hearts and panic in their brain, after all.

If anything, Wilbur was the one gunning to ruin their peace. He wanted power back - God, he deserved his power back, he’d fought for it! L’Manburg was his, and nobody else’s. Schlatt tainted his land with every decision he made, and that sent anger shooting through his mind like a bullet. That goat man was a bastard. A bastard leading a herd of traitors.

Maybe Will was the villain to their story. That's what the shadows say, whispering tauntingly into his ears as they curl around him like a blanket of fear. Fear, fear, fear, that's all he knows. The shadows play on that fear, warping his memories, twisting his perception until he's not quite sure what's real and what's not anymore.

At first, he's scared of this discovery too. Wilbur didn’t want to be an antagonist. He could still recall the sounds of cheering as the people of the nation celebrated their victory. The rebel had felt like a hero then, and it had felt good, pride surging through his chest. He feared the idea that those same men thought of him as some demented traitor. That things would never be the same again for him. God, why did things ever need to change? His mind reminds him with a snarl that he was longing for people who tossed him out to die, and he squeezes his eyes shut, trying to scrub the image of his traitors out of his mind's eye for good.

Wilbur recalled with a stab of pain how happy his people had looked only hours ago, surrounding Schlatt like a herd of lapdogs. The mental image made his blood boil. He’d done so much for them, and then they just decided they didn’t need him anymore. They threw him out like he was trash, they plotted and planned and schemed to keep him out for good – and then they had the audacity to pretend to be on his side in the shadows! They were all two-faced, that's what they were, playing Wilbur for a fiddle and enjoying the burning pain it caused him.

If they wanted to make him a villain in their story, maybe that was for the best. If they were so convinced they were on the right, and that Wilbur was in the wrong, then so be it! They were so quick to jump ship, always seeking the next best avenue for personal gain. The people of Manberg didn’t have any pride – they couldn’t identify integrity if it punched them square in the face. How long was it before Techno realised he was losing and joined them? That was okay, too – Wilbur would just fight him, as well! He’d lean into the violent image he made for himself, and he’d lean into it HARD.

Maybe he’s still scared. Maybe he’ll never not be scared. That doesn’t matter now. To history, he’s the bad guy, the big enemy, the villain to their story. And when he blows them all sky high, reminds them through fire that Manberg always belonged to him and him alone – they’ll realise what kind of monster they’ve created.

Wilbur laughed coldly as the icy black shadows seemed to wrap around his head. He ran his hands through his hair maniacally, exhaling excitedly as he realised just what he had to do.  
It was time to show Schlatt what real chaos looked like.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry for mediocrity LOL. If you see a typo, no you don't.


End file.
